


Nothing To Forgive

by staringatstars



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if Manolo insists that there is nothing to forgive, Joaquin just can't forgive himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing To Forgive

"If something had happened- if you'd died, I don't think I'd ever forgive myself."

Manolo froze while still in the middle of lifting a particularly heavy beam. The town was still rebuilding the church a week after their confrontation with Chaval and Manolo and Joaquin had been out there the entire day, helping. Even though the doctor had insisted that Joaquin should rest and Manolo had just come back from the dead. They were dusty, dirty, and exhausted after working from morning to the last rays of sun, and throughout it all, Joaquin had never once mentioned what he'd said to Manolo. Thinking to himself, the musician wondered what could have possibly driven his friend to broach the topic that they'd both been awkwardly dodging all week.

With a flippant shrug of his shoulders and a smile, Manolo tried to brush away the sudden web of seriousness that'd overtaken his friend, the dark shadows in his eyes. "Well, actually, I did die." He'd meant it as a joke. Then he turned, smile still hanging on, to see the blood drain entirely from Joaquin's face. Tell-tale signs of sleepless nights suddenly stood in stark contrast to the deathly pale of his cheeks and Manolo dropped the beam. It crashed, startling his friend out of whatever hole his thoughts had been sucked into.

Shaking himself, Joaquin tried to smile, then gave up, settling instead for pressing his lips into a grim line. If the musician's reaction had been any indicator of what it looked like, then he must have looked pretty ghastly.

A mirthless chuckle left his mouth before he could stop it. "Yeah, Manolo, you _did_ die."

Grabbing his friend by the shoulders, Manolo insisted, "But I came back, Brother. There is nothing to forgive."

_You should have._

_The blade slipped through his stomach like a knife through rotten fruit. He didn't even remember drawing it._

_The soldier watched, his eyes wide with horror, as blood welled at the blade's edge._

_"Joaquin?" Manolo was crying. No. He hadn't meant to do this. Manolo was his brother. He was supposed to protect him. And- oh God - Maria would never forgive him. Even if he never saw her again. Even if she was gone. Even if she'd died saving Manolo._

_Because she loved him._

_"No." Joaquin breathed. When Manolo began to sway, he rushed forward, catching him before he could hit the ground. "No, I didn't mean… Manolo I'm so sorry."_

_"It's okay." Desperate, he tried to put pressure on the wound. Manolo watched his life flow out on the grass like it didn't particularly interest him. Maybe he was already thinking of himself as one of the dead. "I can see Maria like this, Joaquin. I can tell her how sorry I am… that I couldn't save her." He coughed, a wretched sound that rattled his bones and ripped at his wound."_

_Begging wasn't something Joaquin was accustomed to. It wasn't really even something he'd ever done. But he did it now. In one swift motion, he tore the Medal of Immortality from his neck, laid it over his brother's head, and prayed to every God he knew to save him._

_But just like when he'd prayed for his father's safety, the Gods' refused to answer._

_"…I…can…see…Maria…"_

Waking up from the dream, realizing it wasn't real, then remembering that what he'd actually done and said had killed Manolo all the same, it always broke him. The only good part of living alone was there was no need for him to pretend to be strong. He could weep and scream until his throat ached, until his empty socket burned and all the tears ran out. No one would hear.

He looked at Manolo, then. Manolo, who said there was nothing to forgive, and tried not let the nightmares show on his face. He tried to smile like it didn't hurt, and laugh like he didn't cry every morning because he still dreamed about killing his friend and it wasn't just a dream.

_You should have._

He'd killed his brother.

And if there was nothing to forgive, it was only because nothing could be forgiven.


End file.
